What Happened to Norman Rockwell?
by Bergslaw
Summary: The lines between Maura and I had not been crossed…yet, but there was no more black or white, we now swam in the grey of unknown because in truth, I was hers and she was mine however anyone choose to look at it. Maura always said it was scientifically impossible that the eyes could be windows to the soul. It wasn't till after all this that she came to change her mind.
1. Introduction to My So Called Life

What Happened to Norman Rockwell?

When I was a kid Ma and Pop would take the three of us to my Grandparents house up in New Hampshire. I liked it there. Lots of lakes. Lots of cows too. I digress. My grandmother loved Norman Rockwell. Everywhere in her home you'd find his work. Sometimes on coffee mugs, calendars, cards, and paintings probably purchased on some local store printed on cheap paper. But to her it didn't matter. She'd look at me and smile and always say something like "You see Jane, see that little boy and little girl? See how they're facing out to the sunset together, leaning on each other? That's real love. His hooks empty cause he has no fish, and her flowers are nothing more than weeds, but that doesn't matter. Because it's all in the eyes of the beholder Jane. This is their perfect moment. You'll have your own perfect moments one day too Janie."

Eyes of the beholder.

Eyes.

Maura always said it was scientifically impossible that the eyes could be windows to the soul. It wasn't till after all this that she came to change her mind. Once you've looked into the eyes of a soulless person, you better understand that expression. Till you've had to do that, look into the eyes of a soulless creature, and I say creature because they're not people anymore at that point, once you've had to look them in the eyes it's then and only then you really understand what a soul is. What being human is, good or bad human, still human. These were things no one had seen, known, or understood.

Where the hell was my Norman Rockwell painting now?

Is this it?

I'm sitting here, with Maura, who is leaning against me exhausted and emotionally shook to the core. My arm is wrapped around her back, holding her at her waist as she looks out, surveying the mountain with me. The silly flowers I plucked as a gesture of a promise of things to get better, in her hand, handing loosely at her other side.

Behind us on this dead tree we're now using as a branch sits Rusty, I named him Rusty after a rusty nail, because if you're one of them, you better watch out for him because no shot will save your ass. He's smaller as dogs go, but he's been loyal to us all and loyalty is something hard to come by these days when you're even lucky enough to come by anything.

Maura and I are sitting here, on this dead tree looking out at the setting sun and all I can think about it Norman Rockwell. Isn't that odd? I mean as crazy as these last few weeks have been, I'm recalling an old painting from my Grandmother's house.

"You know," Maura sighs softly looking up slightly to lock eyes with me as I turn my head to give her my full attention. "If the situation were only mildly different right now I'd almost say this was amusing."

"How's that?" I ask using my free hand and tucking hair gently behind her ear. I know she needs the contact as much as I do after everything. The lines between Maura and I had not been crossed…yet, but there was no more black or white, we now swam in the grey of unknown because in truth, I was hers and she was mine however anyone choose to look at it.

"This reminds me of that Norman Rockwell painting," she answers softly and turns her head back out to the setting sun.

And quickly I realize something too. This reminds me of why I love her so much and will let nothing, especially one of them hurt her. Even if it takes my last breath.

TBC…


	2. Sun Rise

Jane woke feeling the arm across her stomach, holding her close, keeping her warm. She smiled, relaxed in the embrace for just a moment. Only a moment. Slowly she untangled herself from the sweet woman her shared her bed, platonically, though Jane wondered quickly why they did share a bed? They'd found enough camp gear, there was no need for it. Best friends are close, but they are not this close.

Jane drew up her jeans, pulling socks on next.

No. Best friends don't need to share a bed. And though Jane was never a fan of labels, she couldn't define clearly exactly what she and Maura was. She pulled a clean shirt over her head.

Maybe that was what worked for them. Neither she nor Maura tried to define this spark between them. No one else would either.

She opened the tent and closed it quickly feeling the frosty bite of the fall morning air.  
Fall.

Jesus it had been three months already. Three months exactly on this Saturday.

Jane would never have guess in 3 months the world would go to hell in a hand basket but that is just what had happened. Three months and everything social and civil about society was gone. They'd been thrown back to the ages of fending for yourself, protecting your pack, protecting what was yours. Killing for it, should it be required.

How had it come to this?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

x-x-x-x-x-x

Before everything fell apart Jane had A Dectecive with the Boston Homocide Unit. She loved her job. Loved catching the bad guys, holding them accountable to their crimes. Now…should it be necessary she'd break those same laws she'd been sworn to proect.

She looked at her surrounding tents. They'd all be dead right now, had it not been for their own sheer dumb-ass luck. Jane owed both her life, her brothers lives, and Maura's life to her mothers stubborn nature.

She'd insisted they take a family trip up north to New Hampshire. Insisted they camp in the mountains, just like they used too when they'd come and see her grandparents. Stay at their lake house even, as it had been inherited by Jane and her brothers.

She stole a glance at the tent her mother slept in. Her mother gave her life, and three months ago- saved it.

Jane could still remember the silence in the café as she and Maura ate breakfast, laughing at a shared joke. She heard the "turn it up Brandi," from one of the locals. The dead were alive. Death mimicked life. There was no suspense or build up to what followed the rise, the walking dead, as the TV was quick to mention them, were all too true to their standing in movies Jane used to enjoy teasing Maura over as she stated the scientific reasons it was not logical.

Logical.

There was nothing logical about this. Our dead were consuming our living.

Jane kicked some stones over top of the dying embers from her small morning fire. The sun was making its way into the sky and Jane thought it looked like it might be a nice day.

"There you are," Maura said softly coming to sit next to Jane near the ambers. "I woke and you were gone."

"Well you know me," Jane smiled.

"What's wrong Jane?" Maura asked taking Jane's hand in her own.

Jane looked down at their hands and smiled. Maura's hands were still soft.

"Maura…"

"You can tell me Jane."

Jane took a breath. She steadied her gaze. "I killed him."


End file.
